


Ouroboros

by mXrtis



Category: Slender Man Mythos, Tribe Twelve
Genre: Gen, POV Second Person, Time Fuckery, even more second person hell, i have no idea what's going on here, is he firebrand rn? what's happening? we just dont know!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-01
Updated: 2014-12-01
Packaged: 2018-02-27 16:05:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2699036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mXrtis/pseuds/mXrtis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You blink (once, twice) and debate whether or not you should touch the body sleeping in front of you. You really want to make sure that it's real, because if it isn't, you're a lot more fucked up than you thought. But if it is real... You don't even want to consider that. Because that's you sleeping there.You're on the bed, you don't remember when it happened, you haven't seen a video of this happening (yet). You steel yourself and tell yourself that your past self will understand why you did it, and then you reach out for your sleeping body.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ouroboros

You blink (once, twice) and debate whether or not you should touch the body sleeping in front of you. You really want to make sure that it's real, because if it isn't, you're a lot more fucked up than you thought. But if it is real... You don't even want to consider that. Because that's you sleeping there.You're on the bed, you don't remember when it happened, you haven't seen a video of this happening (yet). You steel yourself and tell yourself that your past self will understand why you did it, and then you reach out for your sleeping body. 

You barely touch the skin of your cheek when your surroundings shift. Everything's sort of dark and you're sort of afraid, but when aren't you?! Your other self is still there, curled on the ground in fetal position, and when you look at it, a phrase appears burnt into your field of vision like when you stare at the sun for too long.

(You are the eye.)

Your body moves of its own accord and you find yourself circling the curled form on the floor. You feel sympathetic, looking down at yourself.

(Hahaha, you look pathetic.)

The ground around you, around both of you, splits suddenly. Black gives way to white. The flesh of a large eye, it's pupil spirals around and it blinks again and again. You kneel down and place your palm on the pupil. The eye closes around your hand and you distinctly feel the flesh of it around your wrist. A tingling sensation builds in your palm until it feels like it's burning. You wrap your spare hand around your wrist and pull. Nothing. You tear at the eyelids of the massive eye on the floor until it opens and you free your hand.

Looking down, you see that blood has pooled in the lines and grooves of your hand; you wipe the blood off on your shirt, black and white, familiar. You examine your hand and see that F U C K I N G S Y M B O L carved into your skin. Fear washes over you and you notice that the eye, and your other self, are gone. For some reason you think that the dark room is caving in. You are awash in black, thick obsidian, which coats your skin and you cannot move of your own volition. You are frozen, and the dark sky sparkles with stars. Except they aren't stars. They're eyes. Blinking--  
(open/shut/open/shut/open/shut)  
\-- and you are falling.  
(Make a fucking wish.)

You hit the ground, and your eyes shoot open. You swear you see someone standing over you, just for a fraction of an instant. Then you're scrambling for the camera, pressing the power button, hitting the lights. You run for the bathroom and examine yourself in the mirror. There's blood crusted around your nose, (fucking nosebleeds), and blood on your shirt. Black and white. Familiar. Your head spins and you vomit into the sink.

(It comes out black.)


End file.
